


V8 stands for 8 vroom-vrooms

by ComicBooksBro



Series: I’d like to start by apologizing to Dean for doing this to him [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (not necessarily an eating disorder. But Dean has a weird relationship with food, Dean does some cooking, Driving, Food Issues, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, Not Beta Read, Past Rape/Non-con, Side Effects of Conditioning, The Impala (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29686194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComicBooksBro/pseuds/ComicBooksBro
Summary: Dean misses driving.It’s not, like, a big deal or anything, but he misses it all the same.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: I’d like to start by apologizing to Dean for doing this to him [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141340
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	V8 stands for 8 vroom-vrooms

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go again! I’m not 100% happy with this one, but I wanted to get it out anyway.

It’s been nine months since Dean was taken, three since he was rescued, and far too long since he’s been on the road.

Aside from his rescue and the subsequent drive home (all of which he spent confused and drugged out of his mind), Dean hasn’t left the bunker in close to a month. As it is, he’s starting to get a bit of cabin fever. He hasn’t quite started crawling the walls yet, but he’s been looking restless and confined recently, like a caged animal.

As of now, Dean is rushing around the kitchen like a short-order cook——chopping vegetables with a vengeance and scraping them into a crockpot like his life depends on it. Future spaghetti sauce, it looks like.

Cas knocks on the wall as a way of announcing himself, and Dean spins around, shoulders rigid with worry. He tilts the knife he’s holding, up, then relaxes with an embarrassed look on his face when he realizes who’s there.

“Hey, Cas.” The knife in his hand gets tilted down. “I’m making pasta.” He nods at the crockpot “If that’s okay?”

Dean has been cooking a lot recently.

He still has trouble eating sometimes, but Sam and Cas have learned he’s more likely to be able to keep food down if it’s something he’s made for other people. Dean has figured this out, too, and now he usually prepares enough food for a small army so he can make himself pick at the leftovers. And in addition to that, he makes things that freeze well, which is always good for when they need to feed someone on short notice.

The bunker is still a safe haven for hunters when they need it, but things have been slow lately, so they haven’t gotten more than one or two visitors at a time. More often than not, Dean is skittish around them, and avoids them as much as he can. He’s very good at it.

Cas’ memory briefly flicks back to a two day period when Dean had hidden in one of the storage rooms on the lower floors in order to stay away from a hunter who apparently ‘looked fucking scary.’

Cas had been nearly at his wits end looking for Dean, and had almost cried with relief when he had found Dean: curled up under a musty dust cloth, looking like death warmed over. Dean had been too weak to cook, so Cas had basically force-fed him crackers and Gatorade so that he wouldn’t pass out.

Thankfully, that hunter had left shortly after. Cas had asked other visitors about him in the weeks afterwards, but he never heard anything bad about the hunter. Still, it never hurt to check.

“You’re on edge today,” Cas remarks quietly, trying not to seem critical.

Dean ceases his tomato dicing and looks at Cas, but doesn’t meet Cas’ eyes. “‘M always on edge,” Dean mutters unhappily. He returns to chopping tomatoes with clean, neat movements.

“More so than usual.” Cas walks around Dean and leans against the counter a couple feet away from Dean and watches as Dean methodically dices a few slices of tomato into tiny cubes. He seems overly-concentrated on them.

“Guess I’m just...” Dean trails off, cutting a jaggedly uneven line in the tomato. A dissatisfied look crosses his face when he sees what he’s done, but nothing worse. “I...”

“You can say what you want to, Dean.”

“It’s stupid.” Dean grabs a bell pepper and chops it in half.

“I doubt that.”

Dean pauses quartering the pepper to consider Cas’ words.

“I miss driving.”

Cas doesn’t say anything, and Dean rips a large chunk of seeds out of the pepper before returning to anxiously mauling the pepper with his knife. _Silence is bad,_ he thinks before shoving the thought away. He doesn’t need to explain if he doesn’t want to. Cas has put up with him going quiet before.

“I mean——“ Dean shuffles his feet uncomfortably. “It’s dumb. I don’t want to go anywhere, but I want to drive.” He laughs nervously. “I miss my Baby. That’s all. It’s not important.”

The pepper is swiftly reduced to ribbons.

“Do you want garlic bread?” Dean asks in a weak attempt to change the subject. His voice is tight with worry. “I can make garlic bread.”

“You can drive if you want to,” Cas says. “It’s your car.”

“But I——“ Dean cuts himself off and sets his jaw. “I’m not—— _damnit.”_ He sets the knife down with a metallic _clack._ ”I’m allowed,” he whispers to himself. He’s started rubbing at a dark pink——almost red——scar that wraps around his forearm like a vine.

Cas wonders if the scar hurts Dean, and wishes——not for the first time——that he could heal it.

“I’m allowed.” Dean takes a deep breath, then smiles tensely at Cas. “You know where the keys are?” He asks, sounding like he’s trying to prove something to himself. The words come out quickly, like he’s trying to force them out before he forgets how to speak.

“This way,” Cas says, starting for the garage.

A soft smile spreads across Dean’s face when he sees the Impala. He whistles and jogs forward, then comes to a stop right in front of Baby and runs a hand over her roof.

He hums approvingly. Sam and Cas have been keeping her clean. Cas pulls the Impala’s keys out of the pocket of his jeans as he walks to stand next to Dean, and holds the keys out. Dean takes the keys gingerly, fits one into the driver’s side lock, then turns it. The door opens, and Cas can see Dean visibly stiffen as it does.

Dean closes his eyes and breathes deeply to steady himself before he slides into the car. He situates himself, pats the other seat, and waits for Cas, who climbs into the passenger’s side just before the car’s engine roars to life.

Dean looks a little sick, and kind of scared, but he doesn’t turn off the car. Cas is proud of him for that.

Carefully, Dean backs out of the parking spot and makes his way onto the road like he hasn’t taken more than half a year away from driving.

Cas can see Dean relax a little more each second. The near permanent tension between his shoulders almost  
disappears, and he picks up speed until they’re going far too high over the speed limit to be any semblance of safe. Not that Cas is going to say anything. Seeing Dean smile the way he’s smiling now——pure and light——is too perfect to disrupt.

Seemingly on instinct, Dean reaches for a cassette tape, and fiddles with the radio until it blares for life. He jumps slightly at bit at the sudden noise, but manages to avoid jerking the steering wheel. He mumbles an apology for unknown reasons, and turns the music down.

Then Dean’s back, unrattled, at least for the moment. He looks like he should: strong, relaxed, and _happy._ Untainted by the shifter’s mind games.

Dean is smiling again, too, small and calm. The road stretches ahead, and neither of them have an idea where they’re going, but Cas is happy to wait for Dean to find out.

If only to keep him smiling for a little longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, comments and kudos appreciated!


End file.
